Where hardship?
If it be to leave behind
Boundless sorrow to kindred, ease your mind;
The ash-pale face on the funeral pile,
Far from forbidding kindly souls to smile,
Stands for rest rewarding labour, release
From accidents of fortune’s blind caprice!
Folly again, when banqueters recline,
Brows roses-wreathed, cups in their hands, the wine
At their hearts, and—“brief harvest this of joy